


she was ready, and happy, to be hurtled along to her destruction

by majesdane



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Emily thinks it's a bit cliché, the whole cherry lipgloss thing.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	she was ready, and happy, to be hurtled along to her destruction

it may have just been a moment to you, but it changed every single one that followed for me.

\-- _pleasefindthis_

 

 

 

 

Emily thinks it's a bit cliché, the whole cherry lipgloss thing.

Or is it chapstick? She can't quite remember right now, not when her mind's hazy with alcohol and Ali's kissing her way down the slope of Emily's neck, her knee pressing up and between Emily's thighs. There's delicious friction there, but Emily's trying not to think too much about it, because, really, Ali is a tease. Emily's more than aware of this fact and it makes her cringe a little, thinking about how ridiculous she must look to Ali. Flushing and flustered and desperately hoping for more. Hoping that Alison will take things further, just once.

Hoping that this isn't what it usually is: a preview of something she'll never actually get.

 

;;

 

She knows she shouldn't have let herself be talked into going to that party, knows that she should have seen it as a bad idea when Ali had slipped into the seat beside her in study hall and asked her to come. Spencer and Hanna and Aria all couldn't make it, apparently. Or so Ali said, as she stared at Emily with big blue eyes and asked her to pretty please come with her, because she didn't want to look like a loser by not knowing anyone else who would be there.

Emily didn't think Ali could ever even _look_ like a loser; everyone loved Ali and it was far from a secret. Besides, she'd wanted to ask, if Ali didn't know anyone else at the party, then how did she get invited in the first place? But she knew that it was better than to question Ali and she didn't really feel like getting into an argument about it, which she knew would happen. Alison had been angry a lot recently, snapping at all of them for even the slightest of things.

(Plus, Emily thought, it was sort of nice Ali had wanted her to go so badly.)

So she'd agreed, making up a lie to her parents that she was going to spend the evening studying at Alison's for their upcoming Biology exam. Emily hated lying to her parents. But she reasoned that one small lie couldn't hurt and it was more than worth it to see the smile on Ali's face when she told her everything had been taken care of.

 

;;

 

"Who's going to be there?" Emily asked, from Ali's bed. She was watching Ali jump from outfit to outfit, unsure of what to wear to the night's party. Each time Emily had assured Ali that she looked fine -- perfect, even. Gorgeous. Hot -- but Ali had shrugged off her compliments and changed into her next set of clothes, looking herself up and down in the mirror, frowning slightly with concentration.

Ali pulled off her top, tossing it aside. Emily tried not to stare, tried not to notice how smooth Alison's skin looked in the warm light of her desk lap or the swell of her breasts, covered in a deep purple bra she'd bought at Victoria's Secret the weekend before when they'd all gone shopping or how there was the slightest edge along her hips. Her fingers itched to trace along the curve of it.

"Seniors, mostly," Ali said, preoccupied with her clothes. "Not all of them are from Rosewood Day; some are coming in from the city. And then there are the college students." Even with her back turned to her, Emily knew that Ali was smiling. She loved the prospect of hooking up with guys older than her, guys she shouldn't have been hooking up with at all. She thought it was dangerous.

Emily felt her stomach twisting into anxious knots. She didn't really want to go to the party.

They hadn't really talked about the locker room incident, as Emily referred to it in her mind. Every so often Ali would make an off-hand remark about it, a subtle jab at how pathetic Emily was that none of their other friends picked up on, but she'd never said anything about it outright to Emily. It was both unnerving and a relief; Emily was half-afraid that if they did ever talk about it, she'd wind up kissing Alison again.

(It probably didn't help that she _always_ wanted to kiss Alison these days.)

She couldn't forget how Ali's lips had felt against hers. Soft and welcoming. Sticky with lipgloss and when Emily had pulled back and licked her lips, she'd tasted cherry on her tongue. It hadn't seemed cliché at the time, but it sort of was, looking back on it now. Not like it mattered. She was more preoccupied with thinking about how Ali, for the briefest of moments, had actually kissed her _back_. How she'd smiled like she was actually pleased about the whole thing.

It had been a nice smile, too. Not the Ali smile that she could sometimes give you which always made you feel worse instead of better. The kind of smile that said, _I know you're not what you think you are. I know what your secret is._ This had been different. It'd been warmer. Sweeter. Like maybe she'd actually been happy that Emily had kissed her.

Or so Emily had thought, anyway.

After the way Ali had rejected her the next day -- well, Emily wasn't sure of anything.

 

;;

 

It was why, of course, she wasn't expecting it when Alison, returning with a cup of what looked like vodka, suggested they go somewhere else. "Like upstairs," she said. "Where it's quiet."

Emily didn't know why Alison suddenly wanted to be alone. They'd arrived at the party fashionably late (read: an hour and twenty minutes after it started) and had spent the last two hours dancing with boys that looked far too old for her, flirting with them the way Emily had seen her flirt with dozens of other guys. A smile here, a wink there. A hand on a wrist, the slightest of touches. The way she guided their hands to her hips, grinding against them, swaying in time to the music.

It made Emily feel sick. She'd watched the evening unfold from the couch, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek and wishing that she hadn't agreed to come along. Of course Ali was ignoring her; who would want to spend time with shy, uncertain Emily anyway. She gripped her untouched cup of cheap beer and ignored the drunk guys who sat down next to her, inevitably trying to start up a conversation.

"Alright," Emily said, when Ali suggested they go upstairs. "Why not." After all, it wasn't as if she was having much fun in her current situation anyway.

 

;;

 

At some point in time, they'd ended up on the bed, with Emily on her back and Alison hovering above her.

Emily had downed her whole cup of vodka in one quick gulp, which she'd realized later was a mistake. She barely ever drank and subsequently was a complete lightweight. She'd drunk about four shots worth of vodka; it burned all the way down, settling in her stomach like fire. Heavy. Her stomach churned and for a panicked second she thought she was going to throw it all up. That would have been --

\-- But then Ali was sitting down next to her on the bed. Ali, with a few sweaty strands of hair sticking to her cheeks, forehead, her eyes bright and eager. They were the color of a summer afternoon sky, Emily thought. Without the cup to hold, her hands suddenly felt like foreign things to her. She fidgeted, nervous. Alison was too close to her. Much too close indeed; Emily could smell her perfume, a mix of pears and vanilla and lilacs. When Ali tipped her head back, finishing her own drink, Emily forced herself to look away and not look at the smooth, gentle slope of her neck.

 _Fuck_. She wanted to kiss Ali. Again. And again and again until she was breathless. Fuck.

And then Ali'd tossed her cup away and said, "Well, I guess this is it, then."

 

;;

 

 _Oh_ , Emily thought, when Ali leaned forward, crushing their lips together in a hard kiss. So different from when they'd kissed in the library. There was more confidence in this kiss, an eagerness and edge that hadn't been there three weeks earlier.

Oh.

 

;;

 

"Ali," she'd murmured against Ali's ear, as Alison's knee pressed harder into her.

They were on the bed, the door checked and locked; no matter what she said, Emily knew Alison wasn't too keen on the idea of someone walking in and catching them like this. Alison wasn't completely immune to dirty gossip and rumors, even though she usually found a way to twist them to her advantage. This was different. This wasn't Spencer relaying something she'd heard from one of the girls on the Rosewood Day field hockey team about how Ali had hooked up with a lacrosse player in one of the empty classrooms during a school assembly.

No, this was Alison DiLaurentis-- straight, popular Alison, who got every boy she wanted and even those she didn't -- hooking up with Emily Fields, the quiet girl from the swim team who dressed like a tomboy and was too sweet for her own good. This actually _meant_ something.

Ali pulled back, for the first time in her life looking uncertain.

Emily stared up at her, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in her belly. A horrible desire. An even worse distraction. "What's up?"

"Nothing." And then Ali was back down again, kissing Emily so roughly that Emily thought her lips would be bruised from it. She felt Ali's fingers hovering at the edge of her t-shirt, brushing along the exposed skin there from where her shirt rode up near the back, and she willed Ali to go further. And just like that Ali's hand was up her shirt, covering one of Emily's breasts with her hand, squeezing gently. Experimentally.

An experiment, Emily reminded herself. That's all this was. Don't get your hopes up. It's just practice for the real thing.

And then Ali was breaking the kiss, pulling back again a bit, this time taking Emily's hand with her, dragging it under her skirt. Emily bit her lip as her fingers danced along the inside of Ali's thigh, trying to keep as quiet as possible. As if somehow making noise would acknowledge that this was actually happening and would therefore make Alison want to stop it. But no, Alison was sighing, leaning back, knees on either side of Emily's waist, straddling her. Her eyes fluttered closed as Emily dared herself to go further, cupping Ali through her underwear.

She could feel heat there. Dampness too. Holding her breath, she slipped her hand inside, moaning softly as she felt her fingers become coated in wetness. This is it, she thought, stroking absently. This is what it feels like to be touching another girl.

"More," Ali said. Sharp. Demanding. Like she thought Emily wasn't going to actually do anything more. Then, softer. "Emily. Please."

It wasn't like she had any practice doing this, other than what she'd done to herself, and that seemed very different than what she was doing now, for some strange, inexplicable reason. She worked her fingers clumsily, her wrist cramping up quickly from the awkward angle. And then she managed to move her fingers in a way that made Ali groan out an _Oh!_ and knew that _this_ , finally, was right.

Ali came unexpectedly, gripping Emily's wrist, nails digging into the skin and leaving little crescent-moon shaped marks that welled up bright red with blood. Emily watched her shudder, watched the way her hips bucked forward, tried not to think about how wet she was _herself_. She doubted Ali was going to reciprocate.

Practice, she reminded herself. That's all this is.

 

;;

 

Later, Ali said, straightening her clothes and fixing her hair in the mirror, "This didn't mean anything, you know."

"But," Emily protested weakly. "But I thought maybe -- "

"We've been over this, _Emily_." Ali spat out her name like it was something dirty. Unwanted. "It's like what happened in the library. A kiss is just a kiss. And this was just -- it doesn't mean anything. We're drunk, that's all. Alcohol makes you do things. I'm not . . . like _you_."

"I know," Emily said in a small voice. Quiet, resigned.

"Good." Ali gave her reflection a once over and turned around to face Emily. "So come on, let's go back downstairs. I don't want to miss the whole damn party being up here with you."

Emily sighed, pushing herself off the bed, forcing herself to ignore the uncomfortable wetness between her thighs and how her jeans suddenly seemed too tight, too constrictive. She watched Ali check her hair one last time before unlocking the door and slipping out into the hall.

Following Alison downstairs, she wondered if _practice_ would ever mean something real.


End file.
